


Being Good

by prettygirllostt



Series: Holding Together [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, I just really wanted to play with this idea, Johnlock later on, M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettygirllostt/pseuds/prettygirllostt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock finds a baby in an alley and can't seem to part with it. Slowly, he and John grow back together with the help of the child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of these characters.  
> unbeta'd and un brit picked. All mistakes are my own.

There was a child in the alley way. It was dirty and wrapped in a plastic bag, its head poked through a hole someone made in the top and its arms trapped inside. Sherlock, of course, was the only one who saw it. It was silent as if it was used to the odd situation it was in. Sherlock couldn’t tell if the child was male or female and he slowed to a stop.

            “Sherlock! He’s getting away!” John called. For once he was ahead of Sherlock and slowed when the detective showed no sign of having heard.

            “Sherlock?” he began to jog back toward the man when it seemed that Sherlock picked up a bundle off the ground.

            The child didn’t make a sound.  It felt like a sack of potatoes in his arms and for a moment he was worried (he’d carried a sack of potatoes once. A dare by Mycroft when he was high. It had proved his brother’s point, sadly). Then the child opened its mouth and wailed once before settling once more.

            “Sherlock, is that a baby?” John asked incredulously.

            “Phone Lestrade. Tell him we will contact him with more information tomorrow. Tell him…Tell him what the man looks like. Tell him anything. We’re going back to Baker Street,” Sherlock said, his eyes never leaving the face of the child he held.

            “We can’t take a baby home with us, Sherlock,” John said. He sounded off kilter but Sherlock could empathize for once. He also felt shocked.

            “We can and we will.”

            It was a voice that promised any argument made would be ignored. John crossed his arms for a moment before looking more closely at the child. He also couldn’t tell its sex but the look in its eyes made him realize why Sherlock simply couldn’t let it go. There was no hope. No real fear, either. Only a dead look that assumed the worst had already happened and nothing more could be much more dire. The child was in a plastic bag for god’s sakes. John slowly took out his phone and dialed Lestrade.

            “Yes…Lestrade….we’ll talk to you tomorrow. No, he got away. He’s a tall man. Dark hair. Wearing a leather jacket. He has a slight limp when he runs. Yes. Tomorrow. Good night,” he said, his eyes stuck on the child in Sherlock’s arms.

            “John…” Sherlock looked over helplessly and John put his arms out. The child didn’t make a sound as Sherlock placed it in John’s arms.

            “I know. It’s okay. We’re going home.”

^    ^    ^

            Sherlock couldn’t help but stare at the child that sat strangely in John’s lap. The night had started normally enough. They’d found the killer and tried to hunt him down. It had gotten odd when the man had turned down the alley and begun jumping dumpsters. A man with a limp simply wouldn’t have that kind of ability. It had only gotten stranger when he’d seen the baby. And it truly was a baby. Probably only 12 months old, if that, it hadn’t motioned to him and it hadn’t cried. There wasn’t even despair, just cold acceptance and that had stopped Sherlock in his tracks. He’d seen that look in his own eyes and it had coincided with a needle in his arm. He didn’t kid himself. He couldn’t help every hurt child or lonely person. He didn’t even particularly want to. But this single child in its plastic bag with its wide, dark eyes had caught him and he simply couldn’t let it go.

            John was in his own world of shock. Sherlock had returned home in a flurry of surprise only two years prior. John had been engaged to Mary at the time and had gotten married in a numb daze while Sherlock looked on. They’d mended with the help of Mary. Mary, who had gotten ill and left him alone while he buried her. Of course he’d gone back to Baker Street. The shock of all of those years, all of that life that had passed him by could all add up to the shock he felt in holding a baby on his lap while sitting next to his best friend, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes who had never shown any interest in children at all. He blinked as the child shifted to look up at him.

            “Our lives…” he trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. Sherlock only hummed agreement.

            When they pulled up to Baker Street Sherlock didn’t shoot out of the cab but instead reached over for the child almost tenderly. John put the baby into his friend’s arms and paid the cabby who looked at him with angry judgment but said nothing.

            Sherlock hoisted the child onto his hip and unlocked the door. The child watched in its characteristic silence as he took it into the foyer.

            “The first step is to clean it up. Find out….what it is,” John said as he followed them inside. He rubbed his forehead at the thought.

            “We have no clothing for a baby,” Sherlock replied.

            “I’ll ask Mrs. Hudson. She might have something floating around,” John said.

            The child gurgled deep in its throat but didn’t move a muscle.

            Sherlock nodded and bounded up the stairs holding the child safely against him. John knocked on Mrs. Hudson’s door.

            “Oh, yes dear?” she answered in her night robe with a cup of tea in her hands.

            “Do you….have any clothing for a child? A baby? A nappie or anything like it?” he asked. He couldn’t believe what he was asking and Mrs. Hudson’s eyes widened.

            “I have a onesie and leftover nappies. What is this for?” she asked as she bustled back into her flat.

            “An experiment,” John said.

            “This late? Oh dear, don’t let him keep you up all night,” she fussed as she handed over the objects in question.

            “No worries, Mrs. Hudson. Everything will be fine,” he said for his own sanity. Mrs. Hudson nodded and watched him head back to his own flat.

^           ^         ^

            Sherlock had brought the child into the bathroom and was staring at it with frank and nervous curiosity. To anyone outside of himself it would come off as a calm and uncaring curiosity, but in his mind he was working out who would leave a baby like that in an alley wearing only a plastic bag and how a child that young could look so defeated and defiant. Finally, as if reaching the point of boredom, the child reached out to him as if urging him on. Sherlock nodded to himself.

            “Time to find out,” he said.

            He ripped the bag as carefully as possible and winced when he saw the mess stuck to its sides. There was no diaper on the child and it was smeared in what smelled like a drunk man’s vomit. Sherlock wrinkled his nose and started the water in the tub so it was lukewarm. The baby stared up at him.

            It seemed there should be more ceremony in finding out what sex a child was, but Sherlock needed only to look down after he’d pulled the bag free to see that the child he’d picked up was a girl. She was a mess of dirt and her own bodily functions but he couldn’t help but smile slightly. He’d done something good, he felt. He was not a man who prided himself on being “good” in the way he knew people wanted. He left that to John. It wasn’t good that he left for years. It wasn’t good that he dominated others with his brain and it wasn’t good that he was rude and short when he found people dull, but he did good things. Or so John told him. This time, he didn’t need John to tell him. When he lowered the baby into the water she didn’t smile or laugh or squeal but she did look at him and her dark eyes seemed to convey relief. And Sherlock truly thought that was a start.

            John came into the flat with what they needed only to hear Sherlock humming from the bathroom. Sherlock was not sentimental. Not in the least bit. He’d come back with flash and a bang, smiling when he first saw John and frowning when he got punched and he truly didn’t seem to understand the impact he had on the other man. He’d play the music John liked and he’d try his best to make John happy, but he was not someone who took care of children or who smiled or laughed easily. John followed the sound to the bathroom door and leaned against it.

            Sherlock had his sleeves rolled up and was washing the baby with a small washcloth. He had a look of pure concentration on his face and the child watched him with wide eyes. He was humming a song he must have written himself. It was soft and slow and beautiful.

            “John,” Sherlock greeted. His voice warm and thick as chocolate.

            “What’s that you’re humming?” John asked with a smile.

            Sherlock didn’t turn to look at him as he replied, “Something I wrote while I was gone.”

            John nodded and entered the room.

            “It’s a girl, John. I brought home a baby girl,” Sherlock said and for the first time since John could ever remember, Sherlock sounded proud and awe filled over something living and breathing.

            “Sherlock….” John trailed off unsure of how to continue.

            “I know. I know,” Sherlock dismissed.

            Sherlock knew they couldn’t keep her. Knew there was no way. But he wanted this one night. He wanted one night of being good and when he looked over at John, one hand steading the baby’s back, the other gripping the washcloth as it sat in the water, John understood. He nodded.

            “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he said.

            Sherlock smiled in quick relief before closing off his face. He turned back to the baby and let the water begin to drain the dirt and muck of her life away. Continuing to hum, he watched the little girl yawn and felt something in his chest tighten. John pretended not to see the emotions cross his flatmate’s face.

            “I’m going to bed. The things you need are here,” John laid his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder on his way out.

            “Where will she sleep?” he asked as a second thought.

            “With me,” Sherlock replied, his eyes glued to the baby who was lowering her fists into the new water then raising them out, “She’ll be with me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a decision and John stands with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd and brit picked. As always, all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Comments are always lovely :) I hope you enjoy!

John climbed out of bed late morning and was surprised by the silence in the flat. He trudged down the stairs, yawning before he remembered they had brought home a baby the night before. He turned towards Sherlock’s room where only light snoring greeted him. He saw the door was cracked open and he pushed it wider. Sherlock had fallen asleep in his clothes, the baby in the washed out onesie beside him. Sherlock had his large hand curled around the baby’s body as if to protect her from falling off the bed. He snored in little stutters and the baby lay flat on her back her hands little fists splayed out to her sides. John found the scene to be unnervingly domestic and he purposely knocked into the door when he turned.

            Sherlock startled awake at the clatter and turned his head automatically to the baby who opened her large eyes and stared at him. She looked at him with solemn lines on her face, no sleepy uncertainty. When he heard John on the phone, he closed his eyes. John was doing the right thing, he told himself but when he opened his eyes once more and gazed at the quiet child beside him, something in his chest wrenched. He rolled onto his back and listened to John in the kitchen.

            “Hello, Lestrade. Yes, it’s John. Last night we had a bit of a….mishap. Could you come by the flat? Possibly with someone from child’s services?” Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut.

            “Yes. A child. We found her in an alley. Brought her home. Cleaned her up. It was late. No…Sherlock’s idea, believe it or not. Yeah, I know. Yes. Okay, see you soon.”

 

            “Time to get up, little one,” Sherlock said quietly. She only blinked at him. He blew out a sigh and sat up.

            When he’d returned after two years life hadn’t fallen back into the way it had been like he’d hoped. He’d wanted it to all be the same but it never could be. He’d done what he’d had to do to save everyone and the only one who seemed to truly understand was Mrs. Hudson who had shrieked, cried, hit him rather hard for someone her age and then hugged him as tightly as possible. She’d kicked out her newest tenants (“They painted over your wallpaper. Can you believe that?”) and moved all of his things back in. John and Lestrade however had been harder. John had refused to speak to him for three months and had sent his new wife, Mary instead.

            Sherlock had grudging respect for Mary who handled everything beautifully considering what she’d been thrown into.  When Mary had gotten ill he’d made sure Mycroft had taken care of her. There was nothing to be done in the end, but she’d been happy. John had grown warmer since then as if thinking that the money Sherlock had thrown at them had somehow helped. When Sherlock brought it up John had sighed as if Sherlock had missed the point of his somewhat forgiveness and Sherlock hadn’t tried to talk about it since then.

            John had gone on to do things without him. To call Lestrade and ask for his help. To go out with people Sherlock thought of as his. He was defiant in their relationship and sometimes he looked at Sherlock with distrust. Sherlock hated that. He _hated_ it. But there was nothing to be done that he could think of. John didn’t need money or care like Mary had. He didn’t need cases anymore. Sherlock wasn’t sure what John needed. As he took in the baby at his side though he couldn’t help but think that she might be what he needed. It was preposterous of course but when a thought like that snuck into his head, it was hard to get it out. It was not, logically, something he could or should do. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. He swept her up into his arms. She gurgled without a smile but Sherlock could feel how much calmer she was sitting on his hip.

 

            “I see you’ve taken it upon yourself to call Lestrade,” Sherlock said imperially as he marched into the kitchen.

            The baby stared at John and then looked back to Sherlock. John sighed and couldn’t help but notice how easily Sherlock held her and how her small hand slowly clenched into a fist in his collar.

            “It needed to be done, Sherlock,” he said.

            “I know,” Sherlock began to rummaged through the refrigerator.

            “What are you looking for?” John asked.

            “Something to feed her,” Sherlock said. He’d read a book on the development of children when he was in university. Though he thought the information trivial, he’d kept it. It would help him out in the future he’d believed.

            “She needs formula,” John rubbed his forehead, a characteristic move that showed he thought Sherlock was being ridiculous.

            “I know. I put some in here months ago,” Sherlock had his head fully in the fridge with the baby balanced on his hip and one hand rummaging around.

            “Why?” John asked. He hadn’t been around as much then.

            “Experiment.”

            Sherlock pulled out of the fridge with a small smile. A carton of formula sat in his hands and he smiled smugly at John.

            “Hold her,” he said, “I need to make this.”

            John looked at the baby. He had nothing against children. He’d always thought he’d have some of his own and he still harbored a joy at seeing happy children on the streets. But this child seemed to cling to Sherlock and she looked so solemn. He knew why they couldn’t have left her in the alley. He knew why they couldn’t have simply called child services. Sherlock was too inquisitive for that. But he also knew he didn’t want to hold her. He had a softness for odd things and he simply couldn’t let himself grow attached. It seemed Sherlock had done that enough for the both of them. He shook his head.

            “I’ll make it, you hold her,” John said.

            “She is not going to bite, John,” Sherlock said with a scoff.

            “I know. But she seems rather….attached,” John said. He took the formula from Sherlock and busied himself with making it.

            “Test it on your arm first,” Sherlock said as he moved to sit in his chair.

            “I know Sherlock. How do you even know that?” John snapped back.

            “I read about it once,” Sherlock shrugged.

            “You forget the solar system but you remember how to make a bottle for a baby?” John asked incredulously.  

            “I will never need to take care of the solar system. If it stops taking care of itself that’s that but a baby? Someone always needs to take care of a baby. Do keep up, John.”

            Sherlock rubbed the baby’s back as she sat on his lap. She opened her mouth and tipped her head back to look at him. He cupped her neck gently so her head didn’t go too far back. Again, he saw something else in her gaze. There was a relief and fierce determination in her that he could feel through each breath she took. She reached a chubby palm up to touch his chest. Though she had baby fat he could feel that she was underweight and when her small hand pressed against him he could feel the delicacy of her bones. He didn’t want to let her go.

            Sherlock was well known for being selfish. Anyone who knew him would say he was. Even those he’d jumped off of a building for. Long ago he’d given up on caring what other people thought and he pretended it didn’t hurt. He wanted to be selfish now. Though it didn’t feel selfish. She was a fighter. She was strong. And she deserved a life where everyone marveled at that and didn’t scorn her. He could give her that. He could give her wonder and approval and above all, knowledge. He knew he could. He could adore her so she believed she was good enough for all the things she would know. He cradled her head and watched her eyes flutter closed and open. Her stomach grumbled and Sherlock looked up to see John holding out the bottle.

            “Thank you.”

            When the knock on the door came Sherlock looked down at the baby who only peeked curiously up at him.

            “Come on up,” John called when Sherlock said nothing.

            Sherlock took the bottle  John had made (he’d had to dig around to find a bottle that would work with formula) and began to feed the baby defiantly. She out her hand on the bottle and her other hand stayed on his chest. She watched him as she sucked down the formula, staring at Sherlock as if daring him to move. Lestrade bounded up the steps at his normal pace with a woman in a smart suit behind him.

            “John,” he greeted only to stop when he saw Sherlock feeding the baby.

            “Lestrade,” Sherlock greeted dryly.

            “That’s a baby alright,” he said, sounding dazed.

            “Good observation,” the sarcasm rolled off of Sherlock. The baby tightened her hand in his shirt and peered at Lestrade and the woman with detached curiosity.

            “She is very young, isn’t she?” the woman chirped.

            “I’d say a little over a year,” Sherlock said.

            “Well, thank you for taking her. Though if you ever come across something like this again, I implore you to call us first thing,” she said.

            “I truly hope we don’t ever come across this again,” John said.

            “Neither do I. Cases like this make me sick. I’ll take her from here,” she said.

            She held out her arms expectantly. Sherlock flinched just barely. John saw it and reached for his shoulder but Sherlock stood.

            “I assume there will be paperwork,” he said.

            “Yes. We will send it over once she’s processed. It shouldn’t take too long. I really must insist we leave. The sooner we get her into the system the better,” she smiled at the baby with a cool detachment. Sherlock sneered.

            “The sooner the better? You know nothing about this child yet you wish to nearly sell her to a new home.”

            “Sherlock,” Lestrade and John said together.

            The woman waved them off. “It’s alright. You’ve grown attached. That happens. She will be just fine Mr. Holmes, I assure you.”

            She held out her arms once more and Sherlock hesitated before handing the baby over. The little girl gripped as tightly as she could to Sherlock before her hand was pried off by the woman. The woman turned and said, “My name is Victoria Trevor. If you ever wish to check on her, simply call.”

            Lestrade nodded to them. “I’ll check in later about last night’s report,” he said and began to escort Victoria out.

            Sherlock turned so his disappointment wouldn’t be seen and John clapped him on the back.

            “It’s for the best,” he said.

            As he spoke the last word, a loud screech came from the foyer. Sherlock turned. Both men raced to the top of the stairs.

            The baby was screaming. Her face was red and she flailed so Victoria had to grip her tightly. The child who had hardly made a sound from the moment Sherlock had seen her screamed so her lungs must have hurt and kicked out with tiny legs. She fought with every fiber of her being and Sherlock smiled. It was a rare smile and one only John truly got to see. He stopped and looked at the detective. He hadn’t seen Sherlock smile like that since before he’d gone. He’d nearly forgotten that side of his friend. Maybe because he’d forgotten for a while that they were friends. John had been so focused on righteous anger he had given up the thing that made them special. Mary had told him once that Sherlock was his soulmate and she was just a stand in. He’d shook his head and gone about his work in a furious stupor but when Sherlock smiled like that, so full of childish hope and enjoyment, it was hard to imagine ever watching anyone else smile for the rest of his life. Sherlock sucked people in if they were strong enough to take the current he provided and John knew, standing at the top of the stairs in the only building he’d ever truly called home, that the baby in Victoria’s arms wasn’t going to the orphanage. She was staying right there in Baker Street where she belonged.

 

            Mrs. Hudson heard the ruckus and dropped the dishes into the sink. She rushed to the foyer wondering what the boys could possibly be doing now, only to find a prim young woman struggling with a baby. She rushed in to help.

            “Oh dear,” she fussed, reaching in to take the child, “she must have had quite a fright.”

            Though she subsided a little in the older woman’s arms, her screams kept coming until Mrs. Hudson saw where she was looking. The child’s wide and dark eyes were clinging to Sherlock, her hands fighting and reaching for him. And Sherlock, her beautiful young man, was smiling. The experiment of the night before made sense now. They’d saved a baby and Sherlock, recognizing something extraordinary the way only Sherlock could had taken her into his world. Without a word Mrs. Hudson marched toward Sherlock and handed him the baby. Almost as soon as she’d touched the top step and held out the child, she stopped crying. Whimpers pulled from her throat and her small hands clenched in Sherlock’s shirt but her mouth shut and she fell quiet once more. Everyone stared in stunned silence.

            John clenched his jaw, ready for a fight. Lestrade saw the difference in the men. When he’d walked in only minutes before they’d been on different pages. Now something had shifted. John was no longer for giving up the child and he stood like a soldier did when ready for battle. Lestrade had always envied Sherlock in finding someone so fiercely loyal. Sherlock had never known how much John had fought to clear his name and Lestrade had never told him. It was something they needed to figure out on their own. Lestrade cleared his throat.

            “Victoria, if the baby isn’t claimed, can she be adopted?” he asked.

            Sherlock put a protective hand on the baby’s back while Mrs. Hudson turned to face Lestrade.

            “yes, but there are channels,” she sounded affronted by the question.

            “John, get me my phone,” Sherlock said.

            He’d noticed the change in John. The way he’d stood taller. John was now on his side. He gloried in that as John handed over his phone.

            “Take her,” he said.

            John wordlessly took the baby who seemed to absorb his features before assessing that he was no threat and settled into his arms.

            Sherlock dialed and smile grimly when the phone was answered. “Dear brother, I have a favor to ask of you. I have a baby here. Possibly no name or parentage on file. If I send the agent to her office, will you be able to push the adoption through?”

            There was a pause where Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes I’m sure. It was a yes or no question, not a debate.”

            His lips became a thin line before he smiled again. “Wonderful. I’m sure you’ll be stopping by. It’s a girl. Yes.”

            He hung up smartly and smiled down at Victoria Trevor. “I’m sure you’ll find that my paperwork has gone through once you get back to your office. If the child must be somewhere other than where she is right now, I’m sure Mrs. Hudson would have no problem taking her until you see the forms.”

            “This is highly irregular,” Victoria complained.

            “My life is seldom normal. I assure you my brother will have the paperwork in. Now, if you could please leave, I have a baby to attend to,” Sherlock said.

            Victoria opened and closed her mouth before deciding against saying anything. Lestrade took her elbow and turned her around. “It’s only because they’ve done so well,” she said dazedly.

            “Don’t worry,” he said with an understanding nod, “I feel like that most of the time around him as well.”

            When the door shut, John smirked at Sherlock who grinned back until they were laughing together. They hadn’t laughed together in what seemed like years. Maybe it truly hadn’t been. They laughed so hard they gasped for breath and John leaned on the wall, his arm pressed against Sherlock’s. Mrs. Hudson tutted with a smile and headed back down to her flat.

            “So what should we call her?” John asked.

            “Rebecca,” Sherlock said without hesitation, “she is clearly a Rebecca.”

            John couldn’t help but agree.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft visits, Sherlock and John have a mini heart to heart and Rebecca surprises everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> un beta'd and not brit picked. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated!

 

            It had been four weeks. Four weeks and Rebecca hadn’t smiled, laughed or spoken. John was worried. They’d worked on walking and standing which she did on wobbling legs (though only when forced, she still enjoyed rolling about more than anything) but anything vocal and she resolutely ignored their advances.

            “She hasn’t done anything a baby is supposed to do,” he said to Sherlock who was holding her in one arm while he pointed out the elements on his periodic table.

            “She is fine,” he replied over his shoulder with a frown.

            “She is not. Maybe we should do something….” John said.

            “She’s fine,” Sherlock said once more.

            John opened his mouth once more when Sherlock fully turned around. “Mycroft will visit us today,” he announced.

            Mycroft had visited them only once since he’d pushed through Sherlock’s adoption. He hadn’t said much about it and John wondered how he knew which child Sherlock wanted and how he managed to make Sherlock, a man who left severed body parts in the flat, a father to a 13 month old child. They’d brought her to the doctor at Mycroft’s expense and the doctor had told them what Sherlock already knew. She was healthy, she was only one month over a year old and that she was most likely traumatized from something. Since then Mycroft had only sent reports of children that could have been her, each one with a worse story than the next. Sherlock refused to believe any of them was his Rebecca and he crumpled them up before throwing them in the trash.

            Sherlock, to his credit, had bonded instantly with the baby. When John had managed to bring it up to Mrs. Hudson she had smiled warmly and said, “Like he did with you. Sherlock recognizes amazing qualities in people and takes them into his world.”

            It had startled John to see it like that but she was right. Sherlock had drawn him in and he’d never looked back. Not until Sherlock had lied so immensely that his soul seemed to break into pieces. But even after Sherlock had tried. He’d tried in such a way that John got upset over it, but that was just Sherlock. He would have to be as stupid as Sherlock thought most people were to think that Sherlock didn’t care. He sighed.

  He watched Sherlock bypass his concerns and smile at the baby who stared back.

            “She will do what she wants when she likes. She is not stupid she is simply waiting. It has only been four weeks. How does she know to trust us?” Sherlock asked. He moved to the doorway where John turned so Sherlock could exit.

            “I think it’s pretty obvious she trusts you,” John said.

            “But it needs to be us both, John. She knows that. Like I said, she is far from stupid. It is both of us, or nothing,” Sherlock said, his face inches from John’s.

            John was used to Sherlock being in his space. He was used to arms coming around his body to type faster on his laptop. He was used to Sherlock’s hip pushing him out of the way when his hands were busy. He was even used to being asked to take things out of Sherlock’s pockets, but his breath stuttered when Sherlock spoke so close to him. He said “us” as if it was obvious. As if the years John had spent in mourning and angry didn’t matter. To Sherlock, they were still a team. A single person in two bodies. One with the brains and one with the heart. He teetered a bit and was about to speak when they heard steps on the stairs.

            Sherlock grinned crookedly before turning away. John knew without looking that Sherlock had dropped the smile and was back to the cool way he regarded his brother.

            “Mycroft,” he greeted lazily. He dropped into his chair, careful not to bounce Rebecca.

            “Sherlock. I have some things you’ve requested in the car,” Mycroft said as he sat. Both men looked at John.

            John rolled his eyes and walked down the stairs. He knew neither of them would get up to get whatever Mycroft had brought for Rebecca.

            Mycroft crossed his right leg over his left and smiled vaguely. Sherlock glared back. Rebecca knotted her fist in Sherlock’s shirt and glared at Mycroft.

            “You certainly have trained her well,” he commented.

            Sherlock snorted. “I don’t train her to do anything. She chooses who she likes on her own.”

            “As I’ve heard from the persistent Victoria Trevor,” Mycroft replied.

            “What does she want now?” Sherlock asked, rubbing smooth circles along Rebecca’s back.

            “To make sure I made the right choice. To see if the child is alright. She wants to do an in home study to make sure she made the right choice.”

            “It wasn’t a choice,” Sherlock snorted. Rebecca glanced up at him and he could swear that though she didn’t truly smile, there was a joy in her.

            “We know that. She does not,” Mycroft said.

            “Well she may come if she wishes. But there is no option of her taking my daughter. No way that will work out.”

            John was on the stairs when he heard Sherlock say it. His daughter. He thought of Rebecca as his daughter. John paused in surprise. The bags were heavy but he couldn’t help stopping. He wanted to hear what Sherlock had to say.

            “Your daughter?” Mycroft sounded amused.

            “I adopted her. She is my daughter,” Sherlock snorted.

            “And what of Doctor Watson?” Mycroft asked.

            “Put him on the papers too. It’s both of us. We’re both her parents.”

            “Does he know this?” Mycroft titled his head.

            “I hope so. He isn’t a stupid man,” Sherlock said.

            Rebecca began to gurgle deep in her throat. She lifted her hand and pointed to the hallway. “Pa…pa…” she babbled.

            All three men froze. John felt the bags slip from his fingers and he winced as they crashed down the stairs. Sherlock stood slowly with Rebecca in his arms.

            “Papa!” she said again as he moved toward the stairway. John felt two pairs of eyes peering down at him. One in childish joy and one in bafflement. She reached her arms out to him and he took the final steps numbly. Sherlock wordlessly passed her over and her hands fisted in his shirt the way they so often did with Sherlock’s. She looked up at him and muttered, “Papa.”

            She didn’t smile but John could see it. There was enjoyment and happiness in her. Even if she didn’t smile. She turned her head to look at Sherlock and beamed. “Dad…dy,” she drawled.

            Sherlock grinned widely and John couldn’t help but smile back. Sherlock slowly turned back to Mycroft who watched them, calculating something in his eyes.

            “Does that prove it to you?” he asked.

            Mycroft nodded slowly. “I’ll be back soon, Sherlock. I’m interested in this development. After all, I never believed I’d have a niece.”

            Sherlock didn’t answer but instead said, “Bring up those bags, would you?”

            Mycroft’s strangled sigh made him smirk as he turned fully to John. He didn’t speak until Mycroft had thumped the bags at the top of the stairs and shut the door mildly behind him but John could see the smug look.

            “You were right,” he said before Sherlock could speak.

            “Was I?”

            “Don’t be a prick. You were right. She was waiting,” John bounced Rebecca on his hip and he could swear she gave him a ghost of a smile but it was fleeting and when he looked up at Sherlock it was gone.

            “And she does have impeccable timing, doesn’t she?” Sherlock said proudly.

            “Well let’s look through what Uncle Mycroft brought for you,” John cooed. He handed her to Sherlock who sat gracefully on the ground and waited for John to drag the bag over to them. Rebecca cooed.

            “Daddy!” she said as she placed her palm on Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock lifted her in his arms and smiled warmly.

            “Yes, Rebecca,” he said. She lowered her eyes to the bags and gurgled deep in her throat.

            John began to rummage through the bags, pulling out blankets and bits of clothing along with nappies, toys and one giant stuffed bee that said “Buzzzzz” on the tag. Rebecca reached for that quickly though it was nearly as big as she was. Sherlock chuckled as he put her down and she shoved her hands into the soft fuzz covering its round body.

            “Your brother has gone above and beyond,” John admitted.

            Mycroft had brought them a changing table, crib and solar system painted high chair (which made Sherlock scoff and John laugh) along with clothing and books on taking care of a baby. Sherlock had given the barest thank you’s but John could tell he was touched by the gesture. Mycroft, for his part, seemed dazed by the very sudden development but had taken it in stride and offered to help them as much as possible.

 

            Rebecca rolled on the floor, her chubby baby arms bulking up from the four weeks of normal and healthy eating and she tugged the bee on top of her.

            “What sound does a bee make, Becks?” John asked kindly.

            Sherlock hadn’t liked the nickname at first but had grown used to it after John began to implement it in daily life.

            “Bee!” she said loudly.

            John laughed which made Sherlock grin. He hadn’t been sure how Rebecca would affect John’s life and the uncertainty had made him feel somewhat itchy. He was glad in a way he couldn’t describe that the child he’d taken in, that he’d refused to leave or lose, had eased into John’s life the same way she had eased into his.

            “She is spectacular, isn’t she?” John mused.

            “I thought so,” Sherlock sniffed and John grinned widely.

            “I know. I don’t know how you see these things, but Mrs. Hudson is right. You see the most extraordinary things in people so you help them along.”

            Sherlock blinked in surprise and looked down at his daughter rolling around with a stuffed bee. His life had changed so much since he’d come back. Less tough cases and more calm normal life. More need for things to move slower, though his mind still raced.  He had almost grown used to John’s cold indifference and it seemed that Rebecca had opened the door to let the John he remembered out. He felt himself flush as he blurted out,

            “I’ve been teaching her to call you that.”

            It was John’s turn to look surprised. His head shot up and he stared at Sherlock with something new in his eyes. Rebecca stopped rolling and stared between the two men, the bee partially in her mouth.

            “When?” John asked.

            “When you weren’t paying attention,” Sherlock shrugged regally, “in the mornings when we get up I tell her I’m Daddy and when she sees you, I tell her you’re Papa. She isn’t a dumb child; she is simply waiting until the right time. I told you.”

            “And I never pay attention?” John asked though he sounded amused.

            “Exactly,” Sherlock smiled and while both men looked down, Rebecca smiled as well.

            A moment of warm silence settled over the three and the undeniable hold of family kept them all in awed silence until Sherlock gave a whoop of joy and scooped her up into his arms. She let out a small shriek but her smile never dimmed. Sherlock swept her up as he got up and waltzed around the room.

            “Sherlock,” John said softly, “you know something?”

            Sherlock turned with Rebecca in his arms, both beaming. John smiled as he said, “You look like a father.”

            Sherlock flushed and turned his back but John knew he was happy. He’d known Sherlock too long to not know. He’d missed the unbridled joy Sherlock showed, even when it was usually about a case. John watched his friend’s back until Rebecca yawned loudly.

            “I’ll pick up this stuff. Put it away,” he said with a smile.

            Sherlock whirled around and stalked toward John, an odd look in his face. He crowded into John’s space with Rebecca in his arms. Slowly, giving John time to move away, he lowered his head until his lips touched John’s forehead. John was stunned as Sherlock pulled away. Sherlock smiled and though it was small, it was real.

            “Thank you,” he said, moving away to put Rebecca in her high chair.

            John felt his face go hot to the roots of his hair. He put his fingertips against the spot and stared into space until Sherlock turned and said, “John? Tea?” And John rolled his eyes while he moved toward the kitchen.

            “Of course. Cause you can never make yourself,” he ribbed.

            Sherlock’s lips tipped upward as he handed Rebecca her apple sauce. “Naturally,” he said and he warmed as John laughed. Rebecca smiled and Sherlock couldn’t help but feel that things were going back on track.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock snap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, but I've been busy!
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated.

Another week went by rather slowly and Sherlock was found leaning over at the waist and holding Rebecca’s hands as she toddled across the floor. She was saying, “Daddy.Daddy.Daddy.” endlessly as she moved and John put his cup of tea down to watch.

            “That seems to be her favorite word,” he mused.

            “I don’t know, I think Papa rates pretty high,” Sherlock said almost absently.

            Rebecca smiled at the word and babbled, “Papa!”

            John smiled at the little girl he was beginning to think of as his own and sat on the floor across from her. Holding out his arms he said to Sherlock, “Let her walk. She should be able to do it on her own.”

            “Yes, but she doesn’t like to,” Sherlock chided though he released her hands.

            “Since when do you take into account what people like and dislike?” John snorted.

            Sherlock stood up straight and frowned just as Rebecca teetered and fell. She didn’t cry but she looked at John with accusing eyes as if it was his fault she’d fallen. Neither man reached for her and John felt he must have said something wrong.

            “I always take you into account. Always. And now her as well. She is my daughter….if you don’t trust me with that we have more problems than I believed,” he said shortly. John blinked and felt as if Sherlock had hit him which was ridiculous. Sherlock was reckless. Everyone knew that. John was only stating a truth. If he hadn’t been so reckless and unknowing he wouldn’t have leapt off of a building and lied for three years. John turned on his heel and walked away.

            “Papa!” Rebecca cried as he left. John didn’t turn and he heard Sherlock scoop her up and soothe her.

            John met Mrs. Hudson on the stairs out of the flat. He started but she looked at with pity.

            “It will never be easy. It never is, dear. But running out when something is this important isn’t a good idea either. You were doing so well,” she said.

            John closed his eyes for a moment and felt her pat his shoulder before she moved on and climbed the stairs. John turned to hear Sherlock speak to her and Rebecca babble the two words she knew and he felt an ache deep in his chest at not being a part of the scene behind him. He resolutely turned his back again and ignored the sadness that crept in as he pulled open the front door and left the flat.

 

            Sherlock was confused and he despised it. Mrs. Hudson quietly took Rebecca who put her hand under the woman’s chin and smiled. She smiled more freely now.

            “You can go after him, dear. He is your family,” Mrs. Hudson said.

            Sherlock frowned fiercely until Rebecca said, “Family!”

            Rebecca was brilliant, he was convinced and when she said a new word it wasn’t for trite purposes. She didn’t say things she didn’t mean to say. She wasn’t like normal children who babbled to themselves, she spoke only when she deemed it necessary. Sherlock looked over at her in Mrs. Hudson’s arms. It was his family but one person was missing. Spinning, he grabbed his coat.

            “Don’t wait up Mrs. Hudson,” he called over his shoulder.

            Mrs. Hudson smiled and touched Rebecca’s nose. “What a clever girl you are,” she cooed.

            Rebecca smiled. “Hudson. Family,” she said.

            Mrs. Hudson flushed with joy and bounced the baby in her arms. “Yes, darling. We’re family. And Daddy has gone to get Papa.”

            Rebecca looked up at her as if to say _I know._

            “Well then, let’s get you a bottle!”

            Unconcerned for her boys Mrs. Hudson hummed to the little girl and went to make her dinner.

 

            John was not used to Sherlock following him as obviously as he was following him now. He kept looking behind him but Sherlock always stayed a foot behind. He looked thunderous and John continued walking, knowing that Sherlock would catch up to him when he was ready. Sure enough, he turned down the street he usually took to get to the Tube and was almost assaulted by Sherlock. He stumbled under the light fists that beat at his back.

            “What, ow, are you….doing!” John cried.

            “You’re an idiot John Watson! More than I ever thought before!” Sherlock hissed.

            He’d heard Sherlock upset before but never like this. He turned to look up at the man. He looked terrified. He looked like he’d lost something so dear to him it was almost his own heart.

            “What?” John said stupidly.

            “I did everything for you. For you and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. I did it all. I died for you and I did what I had to. Not what I wanted, but what I had to do. And I will do anything for that child. Anything in the world. You don’t want to see me at my worst, John. You never have, but you might if you threaten that,” Sherlock said dangerously. His eyes were so dark they were nearly black and John recoiled.

            “Sherlock, what is this?” John asked.

            “I have waited for years for you to overcome this. I have waited and waited and waited. Mycroft kept telling me to leave, to just go and work for him because watching you live your life and hate me….it destroyed me more than walking away did and you will not, you cannot tell me that I don’t take others into consideration. How dare you?” he thundered.

            Sherlock didn’t talk about his feelings. He pouted, he threw fits and he ignored it but he never spoke like he spoke to John. John felt something in him crack in response.

            “It wasn’t ever going to be the same, Sherlock! You left. You died and you didn’t tell me,” he raised his hand when Sherlock began to speak, “this is my turn. Don’t talk. I know why you did it. I understand but understanding doesn’t make it any less painful. You were my best friend and you died, only to return three years later and expect it all to be the same. It can’t be. It won’t be. Don’t act like it will.”

            “My life….I have never been good at things. I’ve been extraordinary at working things but the normal things people like? I’ve never been good at those things. I can be with her. With Rebecca….I can do things well. I can be good. And I need you there to help me. To be beside me like you always were,” Sherlock said.

            John could hear the hesitancy. The nerves that rushed through his friend.  He reached out and took Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock looked down in surprise.

            “You are a wonderful father and a good man,” he said quietly, “and you don’t need me to tell you that. But if you want, I can try. We can work on this. It won’t all come back but we can try.”

            Sherlock paused for a second then nodded. He pulled John into a straight standing position and said, “Home?”

            John squeezed his hand. “Lead the way,” he said.

            He wasn’t surprised when Sherlock fell into step beside him. They’d always been equal.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John work some stuff out, Mycroft brings paperwork and they get ready to visit the Yard (and St. Barts)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, but I'm trying to keep up with it!
> 
> As always all mistakes are my own.

They returned home to find Mrs. Hudson on the couch and Rebecca cooing in her sleep. John had kept hold of Sherlock’s hand until they’d reached 221B and he watched his friend lean over the cot and look down at his daughter.  Sherlock’s face softened and John couldn’t help but smile. He had been telling the truth when he said that Sherlock was a good father. It wasn’t something he would have expected but it was something he was pleasantly surprised by. Rebecca’s stuffed bee was lying on the floor and he picked it up with a small grin.

            “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” he said.

            “Oh think nothing of it. I see you two have worked it out,” she smiled.

            “It’s a work in progress,” John said truthfully.

            “That’s what counts,” she said.

            Sherlock looked over at them. “Mrs. Hudson,” he nodded.

            She smiled and John could see Sherlock taking in all the information she was presenting to him. He loved them both so fiercely it hurt and he blinked and looked away.

            When he’d been with Mary she’d been so clever and understanding. She’d befriended Sherlock with wry honesty and a frank, forward way of discussing their problems. She’d become indispensable to John both in their own private life and in dealing with Sherlock. He could remember one intense night when he’d ranted, nearly in tears, about Sherlock’s fall and his untimely return. He’d been shaking and angry but she’d been the eye in the center of the hurricane. With a calm smile and soothing words she’d told him he was so angry because of love. She’d never presumed to understand who they were when they were alone and she didn’t seem to care about what others thought and she told him that insistently. She understood though that love could come in many forms and that her husband had once loved the man so incredibly that his anger was justified. She’d calmed him down to the point that he’d understood where she was coming from but the truth of what she’d said that night hadn’t hit him until recently. The adoration he felt for Sherlock had waned as he’d known the man but when his face softened and he picked up the ever growing child he felt his chest constrict in a way he’d never felt even with Mary.

            “ _You love me in a different way. A calmer way. And that’s alright. I wouldn’t want to be him in your mind, you save that kind of fierce devotion only for him. Just promise me, love, that you’ll love me just like this for as long as I’m alive because I couldn’t bear to come second in my own life.”_

            She’d known. Of course she’d known. She’d always been smarter than him. John listened to Rebecca coo in her sleep. There was a sense of family and home in this flat with Sherlock as Mrs. Hudson climbed down the stairs to her herbal soothers and their new baby snored that John never wanted to let go of. He’d fought with Sherlock more intensely than he’d ever fought but something in him had settled at it. Perhaps he’d only been waiting for Sherlock to show he was human. He collapsed into his chair and leaned back in the warm haze of comfort.

            “Let’s talk,” he said, “About what you did in those three years.”

            Sherlock paused in his movements of pushing Rebecca’s toys aside. John had never asked about the three years he’d been gone and he hadn’t offered. After a moment of uncertainty he fell into his chair and began to speak.

 

 

           

            Mycroft had found Rebecca’s lineage. He dropped by only days after John and Sherlock had discussed Sherlock’s past, finding the men in an odd yet warmer environment.

            “Mycroft,” Sherlock greeted lazily. Rebecca was toddling across the floor (Sherlock had shoved all the objects including chairs and tables against the wall) to John and then back to Sherlock. Sherlock had his typical suit on with his legs splayed wide so he could catch her if she fell. He looked ridiculous and domestic but Mycroft simply raised his eyebrows.

            “My….My…My…” Rebecca chanted.

            Mycroft looked down at her and stiffly patted her head. She stopped chanting and scrunched up her nose at him.

            “She’s grown,” he commented.

            She had, indeed. Her hair which had once been very short had already grown to warm brown curls across her head and John had begun solidly teaching her to walk and potty train only a week before. She’d also begun to eat mashed baby food which Sherlock insisted they make at home, pureeing in a blender John had disinfected in the hopes that cow intestines and liver wouldn’t be left in the blades. She was growing very quickly, making John believe if he blinked or slept for too long he’d wake up and she’d be an adult.

            She made it to John and collapsed in his arms mumbling, Papa, family.”

            She’d learned more words but stuck to the ones she felt most important, ignoring “skull”, “table”, “tub” and “rude” and instead saying, “Papa”, “Daddy”, “family”, “Hudson”, and “No!”.

            He cuddled her close as Sherlock asked, “What brings you here on a bright Sunday morning? Aren’t you usually working?” John smiled at how much contempt he could inject in one word.

            “I’ve found the parentage of your offspring,” Mycroft said delicately.

            Sherlock froze and John hugged Rebecca tighter by instinct.

            “And?” Sherlock asked.

            “It is regrettably terrible.”

            “Is there anyone with a claim to her?” John asked coolly.

            Mycroft looked down at him. “No one that matters.”

            “We can’t take her from her family,” John argued.

            “We’re her family,” Sherlock snapped back. Mycroft graciously nodded at his brother.

            “In this Sherlock is correct. Her mother was an addict. She…passed away a week before you found her. Her father is in prison and the only people left are a wealthy uncle with no want for the child and an old grandmother who was rather vocal but when asked, couldn’t remember her own daughter’s name. None of these people want or could care for the child. Ms. Trevor was relieved to hand over the last of the papers and close the case. She wishes you the best and bids you a happy 18 years.”

            Sherlock began to grin and John couldn’t help but smile back. He’d been tumbling down the rabbit hole that lead to unconditional love and relief flooded through him. He could love her now without fear. She was their child.

            “I do need John to sign some forms. Put him on the adoption as well,” Mycroft said.

            John lifted Rebecca into his arms and stood. She smiled up at him. There had been such a change in the little girl since the first day they’d brought her home. She spoke and smiled though they hadn’t heard her laugh yet. She played in the bathtub and shook her head when offered food she didn’t like. She was no longer silent. It seemed Sherlock reveled in that the most.  She’d grown in their care.

            “Where do I sign?” John asked.

            “This is the last chance to get out of this,” Mycroft said under his breath.

            “Why would I ever want out of this?” John replied loudly. Sherlock smirked.

            “Do hurry, Mycroft. We have to get to the Yard and St Barts. Lestrade has a body for me to look at and Rebecca has yet to meet Molly,” he said lazily.

            John turned. “We’re bringing her with us?”

            Mycroft’s lips turned up when Sherlock frowned. “Of course. I just said.”

            “She’s a baby, Sherlock. We shouldn’t be taking her to crime scenes.”

            “This isn’t a crime scene. It’s a body. And you can hold her outside if it matter so much,” Sherlock sniffed.

            Mycroft chuckled softly to himself as John finished signing the papers and Rebecca bounced so she could be put down.

            “How domestic,” he said.

            “You may leave now,” Sherlock snapped.

            Mycroft scooped up the papers with a huff. “You are going to need a room for her soon,” he said, “and when that happens, where will you go? Remember, you need me Sherlock.”

            John thought Sherlock would stick out his tongue but Sherlock only ignored his brother.

            “Come John, we must get there soon! I wish to see the bruising.”


	6. chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John bring Rebecca to the Yard and to the morgue.

            The Yard was its usual bustling self when Sherlock swept the door open. He had Rebecca in a carrier strapped to his front and John at his side. He was formidable. At least until the silence fell. The Yard officers were used to Sherlock and John bustling in and out. When he’d returned it had been odd at first and almost hollow, Sally Donovan avoiding him and Anderson trying not to catch his eye but the years had made it easier. Only Sherlock with a baby strapped to him could confuse them. It was more likely to be a bomb than a child, they would say afterward.

            It was so quiet that when a man sneezed Rebecca jumped in her carrier.

            “What?” John asked defensively.

            “You have a baby,” an officer said as if in shock.

            “Yes. Her name is Rebecca. We’ve adopted her,” Sherlock said with a sniff. He put his hand protectively on her back and she mumbled to herself, turning her head into his chest.

            “So you two are….then?” Another man asked.

            John opened his mouth but Sherlock beat him to it. “Of course not. Rebecca is my daughter. John simply lives in our flat and as such, helps out.”

            Though it was the answer John himself would have provided he couldn’t help but feel annoyed with Sherlock’s presentation. He thought of Rebecca as his own as well. She thought of him as more than a flatmate as well. Not to be outdone he stepped up and smiled at her and she snorted saying, “Papa!”

            With a look of great pride, John eyed Scotland Yard as if daring them to question his parentage of the child. They all looked down and Sherlock began to walk abruptly.

            “Come, I would also like to get to the morgue and we mustn’t waste time,” he said.

            “Sherlock?” John asked as the man swept in front of him. Sherlock spun on him in the hallway when they were alone.

            “I try to give you what you want. A place in my life that isn’t seen as ‘partner’ and you go and make me look….idiotic and sentimental!” he snapped.

            “How? What?” John blustered.

            “I say Rebecca is my child and you are just my flatmate, a fact you tell countless people on the daily, and then you go and make me look like someone normal and pining or just bumbling by getting her to speak your name!”

            “She called me ‘papa’ Sherlock, she didn’t do anything,” John said in bewilderment.

            “And that negates everything I said! What do you want? Do you want Rebecca as your daughter and all the implications that come with it or do you want to just be as you want people to see us? It has always _always_ been more and you’ve refused to let people see it until it was too late. What do you want now? The world we inhabit, or the one in your head?” Sherlock snarled.

            John took a step back. It was hard because Sherlock was infuriatingly right and it was also shocking since Sherlock had never spoken to him like this in all the time they’d known each other.

            “Wha….” He mumbled.

            Sherlock lifted his hand. “Save the dramatic and rather dull line of questioning you have planned. How about you tell Molly what Rebecca is to you and I’ll leave it be. Tell me what you want when you finally decide though, will you? It is getting rather tiresome to be on this ledge.”  
            With the final word Sherlock swept down the hall and John leaned on the wall watching him go. He didn’t know what he wanted. It was a convoluted mess of the past, Mary, and now Rebecca cooing at him from Sherlock’s arms. Overnight he’d been handed a family. One he wasn’t sure he was ready to be a part of. Sherlock was not the person he pictured children with. He hadn’t seen a dark haired little girl in his future and he definitely hadn’t pictured her as a baby in Scotland Yard. But everything about it was enjoyable. It was lovely and sweet and messy and everything he could ever want if only he could let himself feel that way.

            Banging his head lightly on the wall he waited for Sherlock to come out. He didn’t want to walk in on him and Lestrade and make anything even more awkward.  He leaned back against the wall and thought over what Sherlock had said.

            When they were alone in the flat there was nothing wrong. Their lives were full and Rebecca lit up the rooms in the way Sherlock used to before John had begun to distrust him. The baby was their way of being themselves once more. Closing his eyes he pictured a time when everything had possibilities. It was before Sherlock, before the war, when his sister was happy and his parents still alive. It was a long time past. The future had become more narrow but John knew that came with age. Rebecca was his last chance at children but that was a selfish reason to love her. It also wasn’t the reason he did. He adored the little girl for everything she was. For the way she said “papa” and how it usually came right after, “daddy”.  He loved her because Sherlock had protected her so fiercely. Because Sherlock had seen what he hadn’t right away.

            “Damn prick is right,” he muttered to himself. He didn’t know why he was surprised. Sherlock was usually right when it came to him. It wasn’t ugly truths he produced, it was simply things John wasn’t ready to hear.

            He wanted the world they lived in, not the one he pretended they did in public. He wanted the life with Sherlock and Rebecca. He wanted what he’d always had and had somehow lost in his own anger.

            When Lestrade’s office door swung open he pushed off the wall and said low, “Sherlock….”

            “Not now, John,” Sherlock dismissed, “we have to go to the morgue.”

            John followed like he always did and rehearsed what he would say when Sherlock finally gave him the time of day.

^         ^           ^

            The morgue was just as it always was. Molly, however, was not. She’d softened and lost a lot of her nerves around Sherlock and they rotated around each other in a soft haze of respect and friendship that John almost envied. Where he’d nearly lost his connection with Sherlock, Molly had gained something she’d always hoped for.

            “On that first night,” she’d told John when Sherlock had returned, “he just laid down on my couch and let me run my fingers through his hair. He was so tired. Distraught I’d say. He doesn’t talk about it, of course he doesn’t, but it is one of the most bittersweet memories I have. He’s more human than he lets on, you know?”

            John couldn’t help but remember that as Molly greeted Sherlock warmly and looked at Rebecca as if she knew about her.

            “Did Sherlock call you?” John asked, unable to help himself.

            “John, she’s seeing our Detective Inspector. Do you think he wouldn’t mention Rebecca to her?” Sherlock asked critically.

            Molly flushed slightly but busied herself with the body she was pulling out. John looked at her with new interest.

            “So what did you name her?” Molly asked.

            “Rebecca,” Sherlock said smoothly. Rebecca mumbled to herself and put her fist in her mouth.

            “That’s beautiful. What made you choose it?” Molly smiled kindly as she laid out the body. It was an odd moment that John had grown used to and he concentrated on Sherlock. He didn’t know why Sherlock had chosen the name either.

            “Because it means something special,” Sherlock said vaguely.

            “A family name?” Molly presented the file she had on the body and Sherlock took it.

            “No,” he replied, burying his nose in the file and proving that the conversation was over.

            Molly looked over at John who only shrugged. “So John, did you adopt her as well? Greg said that you two seemed united in wanting to keep her. He also said the agent was a nightmare about it on the ride back to her office.”

            Sherlock began talking quietly to Rebecca about the case. Rebecca didn’t look too enthralled and John pulled a set of baby keys out of his coat pocket, jingling them in front of her until she cooed and grabbed them. Sherlock didn’t glance at him but continued to talk about the case.

            “I guess that answers my question, doesn’t it?” Molly giggled.

            John opened his mouth to respond but felt that she’d summed it up and instead sighed and nodded.

            “She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Molly cooed.

            “Yes,” John agreed firmly, “she is.”

            Sherlock had his head bent over the body and so they didn’t see his small smile. Rebecca did though and she smiled back.

            “Daddy! Happy!” she crowed.

            Molly and John looked over as Sherlock kissed her head and smoothed the dark curls that sprouted from her head.

            “Sherlock?” Molly said in surprise.

            “It was obviously the brother. Come on John, it’s time to go home.”

            “Family. Home! Bye Bye,” Rebecca chirped at Molly.

            Molly smiled back as Sherlock swept by and Rebecca put her hand out as if reaching for Molly. Shaking her head she went to put the body back in its shelf.

^     ^   ^

            Sherlock didn’t say anything when they got home. Instead he went to change Rebecca and give her a bath. The look he gave john said that he wasn’t invited and so John settled in with his laptop. Running a quick search for why the name “Rebecca” was important he couldn’t seem to find anything. He could hear Sherlock’s voice in the bathroom and the occasional screech that could’ve been laughter from Rebecca but John wasn’t sure. Finally, he looked up what the name meant. What he read made his eyes well up with tears. Slowly, he pushed his computer back and stood. A single pain shot through his leg, blazing in glory and then dying.

            He needed to tell Sherlock how he felt. He needed to show him. Because Sherlock hadn’t named Rebecca for himself, he’d named Rebecca for John. He’d named Rebecca for them. She was their hope for the future and Sherlock had seen it the moment he’d held her in his arms. Sherlock was always brilliant. John didn’t know why he’d doubted it. Why he’d doubted where they would end up. As he moved toward the bathroom his screen seemed to light up the room, his daughters name full on the screen.

            **Rebecca: _V_ ; from the Hebrew meaning: _To tie together firmly._**


	7. chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the story! You'll find out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this and with this being the end, I've decided to add on to it with another story written in letters that John writes to Mary to tell her of their life. 
> 
> As always I hope you enjoyed this, I'd love to hear feedback and thank you so much!
> 
> Un betad and brit picked. All mistakes are my own.

“Sherlock….” John didn’t know how to begin saying what he wanted to say and instead trailed off.

            Sherlock turned from where he was kneeling at the tub. His hands were soapy and he was dripping comically from where Rebecca had splashed his face. John couldn’t help but smile.

            “You are covered in soap,” he said instead. It was the easiest thing he could say.

            A ghost of a smile passed Sherlock’s face before it dropped and he said, “Yes. Good deduction. Now what is it you wanted? That clearly was not the reason you came in here in the first place.”

            John opened his mouth and could feel Sherlock’s eyes assessing every movement he made. “I….just wanted to help,” he said lamely.

            “Papa,” Rebecca giggled, “bubbles!”

            Sherlock had been the one to adamantly say they needed bubbles for her baths. Rebecca loved the water and bubbles made it better. John never would have thought that 221B smelling like little kid’s strawberry bubble bath would be a good thing but when Rebecca was bundled in her plain pink onesie and smelling of a bath, John could easily admit it was perfect.

            Sherlock narrowed his eyes for a moment before letting it go and nodding. “Sure, she’s happy today.”

            “Isn’t the always?” John asked.

            “Only when both of us are with her,” Sherlock said.

            John blinked.

            “The day I picked her up she stared at me and chose me. Chose us,” Sherlock turned his gaze back to Rebecca who splashed her fists in the water.

            “Like you chose me?” John said softly.

            Sherlock’s eyes shot back to John’s face. He stood slowly.

            “John….what did you come in here to say?”

            John knelt and began to drain the tub. Rebecca pouted and let out a whiny, “Papa!” but he simply wrapped her in a towel and picked her up. Sherlock waited.

            Rebecca fit perfectly in his arms. She had since the first moment he’d held her. He couldn’t help but wonder if Sherlock would fit against him as well. They fit in every other way. It was hard to imagine that he wouldn’t. John kissed the top of her head and she smiled at him.

            “I came in here to tell you….you’re right. I wasn’t being fair. Our life is far more than I ever let people know and it isn’t fair to you to have to pretend. We are more than flatmates and possibly more than friends. I nearly died when you left and I suppose I wanted to punish you for it. Mary always told me I wasn’t being nice or fair to you as well. I know that what you did, you did for me and for Mrs. Hudson and also for Lestrade. I know it wasn’t easy. I just felt as if you left me when I’d chosen you,” John looked down as Rebecca ran her hand along his chin.

            Sherlock took a step closer. He placed his hand over John’s on Rebecca’s back and asked quietly, “And what do you want now?”

            John looked up into the bright eyes of his flatmate and best friend. His own eyes seemed to blaze. “I want what we have. Maybe more.”

            Sherlock’s hand on his squeezed for a moment before he lowered his head and kissed the top of Rebecca’s curls, his own hair brushing John’s face. When he lifted his head up, he was only inches from John’s face and he smiled.

            Rebecca began to babble to herself as John cradled her closer. Sherlock leaned in and rested his forehead on John’s. “I’ve been….waiting,” he breathed.

            John tenderly lifted his hand and placed it on Sherlock’s face. “I know. I know but no more waiting now.”

            “Daddy. Papa. Our….family,” Rebecca said and before the last word fully was finished, their daughter began to laugh.

^        ^          ^

            Victoria Trevor was happy in the changes she saw at 221B Baker Street. Her in home analysis showed that the two men perfect for their new daughter and that the solemn baby who had stared and never smiled was now a happy child. She would be turning two in the coming months, they now knew and though Sherlock seemed unhappy by it, John had invited her to the party.

            “You tried to do things in her best interest, and I’m glad you did,” the man said warmly to her while his friend spun in circles while playing the violin for the little girl.

            “I’m just glad she’s happy,” she replied honestly.

            “So are we,” John said, looking over at Sherlock with a smile.

            “You make a lovely family. You and your….well, you’re a lovely couple as well,” she said, a slight blush crawling up her cheeks.

            John turned back to her and smiled. He thought of all the times he’d denied that fact and grinned wider. “Thank you, I think so too.”

 

            When Victoria Trevor signed off once and for all on the men in 221B and had left for her offices and other cases of abandoned and hurt children Sherlock placed Rebecca on the now clean floor of the sitting room and watched her toddle around. She giggled relentlessly as she caught chairs and the table legs to keep her balance. Sherlock watched with his fingers steepled under his chin. John came up behind him as he sat and kissed the top of his head. Sherlock smiled.

            “A lovely family,” he repeated.

            “Ah, you caught that,” John laughed.

            “Do I ever miss things?”

            “Sometimes,” John said and Sherlock looked up.

            “Really?” Sherlock’s voice arched.

            “Yes,” John came to stand in front of him, leaning his hands on the armrests of Sherlock’s chair, “you missed how much I adored you before. All I needed was that push and we could’ve been right here,” he murmured.

            Sherlock smiled. “But then it wouldn’t be right now. We have Rebecca to thank for this now, don’t we?”

            He looked around at their little girl who smiled, waved and then began to laugh. John could find nothing better in his memories than this moment and as he settled on the armrest of his best friend’s chair, their hands entwined, he didn’t really think he’d need to.

 

 

 


End file.
